Onward to Steampunk World's Faire!

Hello loyal readers!

Apologies for the long break, we have been on temporary hiatus while various Cirque members have been finishing up school and making preparations for Steampunk World's Faire! If you happen to be attending Steampunk World's Faire, look for us wearing red rosettes!

We should be back to our usual schedule for posting shortly after the Faire! :)

Of Tapestries and Secrets

Alexandra was distracted.  After drinking nearly a pot of tea, she had begun her mending only to find that she had stitched the sleeve of a shirtwaist onto vest and sewn two pants legs together at the cuffs. Finally ripping apart an inside-out cloak hood, Alexandra threw the entire basket of mending across the room in frustration.

 “Damn that magician,” Alex sighed, dropping her head into a pile of fabric. She couldn’t focus on anything. She needed something to distract her. Maybe she should visit the castle and Madame Rosamunde to experiment more with the sewing machines. 

The fortune teller wrapped a blue wool cloak around her shoulders, tucked a basket of fabric under her arm and headed off towards the castle. Once inside, Alexandra headed up a set of stairs. She thought she was going in the right direction but, wandering higher and higher into the castle, realized she was lost.

Alexandra was just about to find the when she paused, her eye caught by a peculiar tapestry of a man bathing in the freshly spilled blood of a dragon, and as she stepped closer to examine it she heard a faint whistling sound and felt the fabric sway under her finger tips.

Curious, the fortune teller pulled it back to reveal a pierced metal gate set into the stone wall. And the gate was slightly ajar.

She knew that she shouldn’t pry into the royal affairs, but a secret passage way in a castle; it was too much for her to resist!

Tucking the sewing basket under her arm, she carefully pushed the gate open and slid through into the dim passage. Light filtered through from pierced grates set high in the walls, revealing clean stone walls, paved floor and small wooden shutter spaced irregularly.

Sliding one open, Alexandra found herself looking through the filigree in the frame of a mirror and into a luxurious bedroom with an enormous velvet draped bed. It could only belong to one of the many noblewomen who lived in Mad Ludwig’s palace. Her suspicions were confirmed as the occupant, a clearly tipsy woman with long copper hair stumbled into the room and onto the bed pulling an equally intoxicated gentleman after her.

“Oh my,” she murmured, hurriedly closing the shutter and continuing down the hallway. Alexandra was considering turning around when at the far end of the passage Alexandra heard raised voices coming from a large shutter just around the corner.

Once again her curiosity was piqued and she couldn’t help opening the shutter a crack to see what the commotion was about. Within she saw a duchess and a baron that she recognized from the dinner along with another man she had never seen before. They were standing, shouting loudly in German at another gentleman standing out of view in the shadows. 

Alexandra knew only a few words of German, but she understood enough and from the shouting they were definitely having an argument about death or killing. Or maybe war? And there was something about a person with noble blood or royalty. She always mixed up her nouns.

But from the body language they were upset and angry. And worried, very worried about an assassination or death. They were planning on killing someone.

Alexandra drew back from the gate in surprise as final speaker stepped forward out of the shadows and came into view. It was the prince!

And now, a segue!

“I didn’t cause any trouble or break anything,” Marie protested. “But listen!”

And Asmodeus did. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long draught of the dark rum. This was shaping up to be one of Marie’s typical stories and would certainly require a little more alcohol. He was only half-listening and enjoying a deliciously burning mouthful of distilled molasses, imagining soft fabric remnants and softer flesh, when he heard Marie grind out what must certainly be the German word for assassination. And circus. But assassination! He very nearly choked on his spirits. It could be that Marie misread the missive, or perhaps it’s absolutely none of their business, but the mention of a circus seemed to hint otherwise. Theirs was the only circus in town of which Asmodeus was aware. However his last few brilliant ideas seemed to grate on Asmodeus’ decisiveness, and he did not trust things to go as he saw them in his head. Better he should leave circus business to a higher power. With another swig and a deadpan expression, Asmodeus stared down at Marie. “Well now, I do know what it means and I can assure you it has nothing to do with dung, though it reeks as bad. I believe you should tell your story to Colette.” Marie made face and pranced from one foot to the other as if to protest, but Asmodeus immediately set her at her ease. “Not to worry, Marie. You’re in no trouble; perhaps just the opposite. Come along, then.” Bare-chested and suspendered, he grabbed his coat and hat and made for the ringmaster’s cabin, Marie at his side.

Without so much as a knock, Asmodeus threw open the door and strode the breadth of the room, passing through long shafts of light thrown upon the posh, carpeted floors by the dawn sun, making a beeline for the ornately decorated cabinet wherein bottles of amber-hued liquids would reside. Peering inside he called over his shoulder, “Good morning illustrious leader. Fancy a finger or two of rum, put some color into those cheeks? By the bye, our little Marie has something singular you may wish to hear. Go ahead and tell her what you told me.” And Marie related her tale anew.